The Silent Girl

Why are you here?”
    “First, may I ask your name?” said Jane, pulling out a notebook.
    “Bella Li. I teach the beginning and intermediate classes.”
    “Your students are amazing,” Frost marveled, still watching the class as they leaped and whirled.
    “This is the intermediate class. They’re rehearsing for a martial arts demonstration next month in New York. They’re now practicing the leopard moves.”
    “Leopard?”
    “It’s one of the ancient animal techniques from northern China. The leopard relies on speed and aggression, which is what you see in this exercise. Each animal technique is a reflection of that animal’s nature. The snake is sly and sleek. The stork excels in balance and evasion. The monkey is quick and clever. Students choose which animal best suits their own personality, and that’s the form they master.”
    Frost laughed. “It’s like what you see in kung fu movies.”
    His remark was met with an icy stare. “The proper name for this art is wushu, and it was invented thousands of years ago. What you see in those movies is fake Hollywood crap.” She paused as her class ended its exercise and stood watching her, waiting for further instructions. “Get the swords. Sparring practice,” she ordered, and the students headed for a weapons rack where they collected wooden practice swords.
    “May we speak to the owner?” asked Jane.
    “
Sifu
Fang is in the back room, teaching a private student.”
    “How do you spell that name? You said it was She—”
    “
Sifu
isn’t a name,” Bella retorted. “It’s the Chinese word for ‘master’ or ‘teacher.’ A term of respect.”
    “Then may we speak to the
master
?” Jane snapped, irritated by the girl’s attitude. “This isn’t a social call, Ms. Li. It’s official business.”
    Bella weighed her request. The students began sparring practice, and the room echoed with the clacks of wooden swords. “A minute,” she finally said. She knocked at a door, waited a respectful moment before opening it, and announced: “
Sifu
, there are two policemen here to see you.”
    “Send them in,” said a voice. A woman.
    Unlike lithe young Bella Li, the Chinese woman who rose from her chair to greet them moved slowly, as if struggling with aching joints, although she appeared to be only in her fifties. Middle age was barely etched in her face, and her long black hair was streaked with only a few strands of silver. She faced them with the confidence of an empress. Although she was Jane’s height, her regal posture made her seem far taller. Beside her stood a small blond boy of about six, dressed in a martial arts uniform and clutching a wooden staff almost as large as he was.
    “I am Iris Fang,” the woman said. “How can I help you?” Both her formality and her accent told Jane the woman was foreign-born.
    “Detective Rizzoli and Detective Frost,” said Jane. She glanced at the little boy, who looked back at her, pugnaciously unafraid. “Could your student step out? We need to speak in private, ma’am.”
    Iris nodded. “Bella, take Adam into the other room to wait for his mother.”
    “But
Sifu
,” the boy protested. “I want to show you how I practiced with the monkey pole!”
    Iris smiled down at him. “You will show me next week, Adam,” she said, affectionately brushing her fingers through his hair. “Monkeys must also learn patience. Now go.” The smile remained on her lips as Bella led the boy out of the room.
    “That little guy’s a martial arts student?” said Frost.
    “He has both talent and passion. I do not waste my effort on just anyone.” The smile was gone from Iris’s face as she regarded her visitorswith cool appraisal. Her gaze fixed on Jane, as if she understood in which visitor the authority lay. “Why have the police come to my studio?”
    “We’re from the homicide unit, Boston PD,” said Jane. “We need to ask you a few questions about something that happened in Chinatown last night.”
    “I assume this is about the dead woman on the roof?”
    “Then you already know about it.”
    “Everyone is talking about it. This is a small neighborhood, and like any Chinese village, it has its gossips and its busybodies. They say her throat was cut, and her hand was thrown off the rooftop. And they say she had a gun.”
    Whoever
they
were, they knew too damn much, thought Jane.
    “Are these stories true?” asked Iris.
    “We can’t really talk about it,” said Jane.
    “But that is why